


curtain open

by Anonymous



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Canon Universe, Character Study, Gen, M/M, Sickfic, Team as Family, ish, soft, the world's most obnoxious and convoluted sickfic tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-08 05:47:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14687756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Jisung is sick.Minho struggles to deal.





	curtain open

**Author's Note:**

> hi hello annyeong
> 
> i am just testing out the waters for this fandom now?? what is this?? literally a 18.5k fic about jisung being sick and minho having lots of time to think, yeah that's about it. soft hours. basically an excuse for me to rant about how amazing jisung is, because that boy. well. 
> 
> hope the formatting is okay bc i can never be arsed to doublecheck and beta?? idk her

 

 

 

 

It’s amazing, Minho thinks with a small, gentle smile, that something so powerful can also be so fragile. That something so fearsome can also be human and vulnerable.

 

Jisung is known for his incredible speed, enunciation, and his ability to transform his voice into virtually anything imaginable as a rapper and vocalist alike, unhindered by time, tone, trepidation.

 

And yet –

 

Here it is.

 

Jisung’s vocal chords, that greatest strength and most precious pride, has somehow rendered him weak and sweaty and feverish, stuck in a bed for however long, until the virus eventually leaves and the infection stops eating at his throat.

 

It hasn’t happened yet.

 

Instead, Jisung sleeps fitfully on the bed, twitching and fidgeting with beads of sweat crowning his forehead and breaths coming out in laboured and drawn gasps.

 

It’s bad, it’s very very bad, and it hurts Minho so much to see him so reduced.

 

Jisung’s entire energy level has disappeared in the blink of an eye, which means that instead of running around the dorms with a screaming Felix behind him or pouring over the lyrics in the makeshift office, Jisung is lying on his bed, restlessly, delirious, and absolutely miserable.

 

Minho has taken it upon himself to look after his poor boyfriend, through an unvoiced agreement or by decree, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy.

 

Sickness does not become Jisung.

 

He’s pale and messy, eyes swollen and cheeks flushed a bright red, and his hair is strewn about in a messy nest atop his head. Minho has given him the dignity of wearing mostly black, to hide the patches of sweat from his high fever, but it still doesn’t entirely cover up the way the fabric starts to cling slightly to his skin through the clammy air.

 

The other members are giving them some space, awkwardly shuffling around outside the designated sick room with half-mumbled questions of “do you need anything?” or “is he okay?”, as if Minho would ever hesitate to call on their help if he needed it. Occasionally, he does – he asks Hyunjin to get some more water, tells Jeongin to get a spare set of pajamas, he once even ordered Changbin to make him coffee just because he could.

 

Mostly, he’s fine to keep this strange, silent vigil on his own.

 

Jisung wakes up occasionally, and Minho forces him to stay awake and get up to walk around the room for a little while before leaving him back on the bed to rest. Jisung moans and complains and generally, remains uncooperative, but Minho knows it’s just the sickness talking, so he doesn’t take it to heart.

 

Instead, he gathers his patience to deal with it as best as he can, because really, _this isn’t Jisung’s fault._

Minho might have to deal with the stress of being the caretaker of a difficult patient, but it must be _nothing_ compared to the pain Jisung is going through.

 

Minho sings him to sleep, sometimes, when Jisung asks him to, and stays with him all the time, holding his hands, feeding him pills and electrolyte water, cuddling until the heat becomes too much and Jisung kicks off the covers restlessly to escape the crawling fever. It all works in cycles and intervals, but the reoccurring theme is Jisung’s inability to get comfortable and his frustration with his own state at the moment.

 

But he’s not the only one who’s upset.

 

Although they had just finish promotions and everyone were a little bit high-strung, it’s quite maddening that they didn’t catch it sooner, Minho thinks bitterly, because the signs were all there, and they all watched it unfold right before their eyes without really reacting until the day Jisung refused to get out of bed in the morning.

 

At first it had just been a slight itch in the throat.

 

It always starts with a small itch in the throat.

 

Jisung had whined and demanded that they stop for frappucinos on the way home from practice, which was fair enough. It’s May, the weather is starting to heat up with a vengeance, and after a full day of dancing and screaming and shouting at one another, something cold and delicious sounded tempting enough for all of them.

 

The day after, his voice started to sound a bit scratchy, and Chan let him forego vocal practice before telling him to put on a scarf on their way home.

 

The third day was much like the second, and Seungmin made him tea with honey in the evening to help combat the soreness.

 

The fourth saw him rushing out of the recording studio in frustration after having his voice crack and break five times during the demo he had done with Chan.

 

(It is, to date, the only time Minho has seen him truly angry.)

 

On the fifth day, Felix began to tease him for sweating so much during practice.

 

“Are you trying to wash your clothes in sweat, what is this?” Felix laughed as he picked up the discarded t-shirt bundled together near Jisung’s bag. “That isn’t how hygiene works.”

 

“You’re one to talk,” Jisung had retorted and thrown a water bottle at him. “It’s so warm in here, how can you still be wearing a sweater? It’s not my fault you don’t seem to react to temperatures like a normal human being.”

 

“Mate, I’m from Australia.”

 

Maybe, if Minho had thought about it, he would have realized that the practice rooms were not actually that warm, and that no one besides Jisung had even discarded their hoodies yet.

 

But he didn’t.

 

And when Jisung had practically collapsed into his bed that evening, he didn’t think anything more of it. He had just laughed, cooed and patted Jisung’s head affectionately.

 

The sixth day was no better, but it still didn’t occur to anyone that Jisung might actually be getting sick, because he was still so loud, so animated, and gave his all during practice, as always.

 

It was probably just the changing weather.

 

Maybe Jisung’s just really warm-blooded and no one noticed before.

 

And who isn’t tired in the evenings? It’s tough being an idol.

 

The seventh day was when Minho started to think something could be wrong.

 

Jisung didn’t come out with his roommates that morning, and when Minho went to check up on him, he complained about a headache.

 

Minho had finally taken the hint and felt his forehead then, sweaty and warm under his bangs.

 

“You have quite a fever,” he said, rubbing his thumb across Jisung’s cheek. “I don’t know if we have a thermometer, but – “

 

“It’s not that bad,” Jisung cut him off, looking up at him imploringly, eyes round and shiny. “It’s just – it’s Jeongin, he likes to turn up the heat like crazy, and I can’t deal. I’ll just have some painkillers, could you please get them for me, hyung?”

 

“Sure,” Minho had smiled, despite his lingering doubts. “How’s your throat, though? You still sound a bit rough.”

 

“Still hurts,” Jisung admitted with a small sigh. “I guess – I probably didn’t drink enough because of that. ‘s probably why my head hurts. I’ll remember today, hyung.”

 

“Okay, as long as you promise me that,” Minho said, and that had been the end of it. The lingering unease and worry still gnawed at the bottom of his stomach like a sharp weight, but as long as Jisung smiled and brushed off his concerns, he never found the words to force him back to rest. Their lives were never comfortable, it’s a tough industry that demands a lot, and okay, sometimes that includes balancing getting appropriate amounts of rest and balancing at the edge of their limits. At least the painkillers seemed to do their job, and somehow got Jisung through the day.

 

And the next day.

 

And the next day.

 

Until the next morning, when not even Minho had been able to coax him into getting up from bed, and Changbin managed to procure a thermometer from the company’s first aid supplies only to find his fever alarmingly high.

 

The dorm was cast into a confused and slightly panicked state of disarray, with Chan making calls in the hallway as Woojin tried to usher the youngest into the kitchen and Changbin and Minho stayed with Jisung.

 

“Should we take him to the shower?” Changbin asked uncertainly, frowning down at Jisung, squirming and crying softly in Minho’s arms. “To, you know… Get the fever down?”

 

“I don’t know,” Minho sighed helplessly, rocking Jisung gently. “Does that really work, or is it just in movies?”

 

“You’re asking me,” Changbin had bitten his lip, patted Jisung’s thigh helplessly. “You’ll be fine, Jisung-ah.”

 

But Jisung just kept crying and whimpering, didn’t really react to them, not even when Chan burst through the door to announce a company car coming to take them to the hospital shortly.

 

Luckily, Jisung is small and scrawny, and even in his half-awake state, it had been easy enough for Minho to piggyback him into the car with Chan by their side all the way. If he had bothered, he would have mused over the role reversal since Jisung was usually the one to insist on carrying his hyung around, but the everyday laughs and smiles were far from his mind at the time.

 

The silence on the way to the hospital had been suffocating, only interrupted by Jisung’s sniffing and Chan’s impatient sighs. Minho had been terrified, because what if it was something serious? Something deadly? Something that would take Jisung out of the group? He hated himself for not reacting in time, but now that they were on their way to get help, he suddenly didn’t want to arrive. Which was of course the dumbest and most selfish thought, but he didn’t want to get any bad news – didn’t think he could handle it. Jisung’s head was heavy on his shoulder, feeling warm and damp even through the thick material of Minho’s sweater, and he couldn’t help but squeeze the limp hand in his lap a bit tighter.

 

“You’ll be fine, right?” He’d whispered into the crown of Jisung’s head. “You have to be. You can’t scare me any further.”

 

Jisung didn’t reply. Instead, he just whimpered as the car hit a bump in the road, and Minho kissed his head affectionately.

 

Chan pretended not to see them from the passenger seat in front.

 

It turned out to be a severe throat infection, with the unfortunate by-products of migraines and dehydration on top as a result of going untreated for so long. Totally remediable, shouldn’t leave any lasting damage, but they were told to take Jisung in for tonsillectomy if he didn’t improve after completing his antibiotics cure.

 

It was all Minho could do to nod while waiting for Jisung’s drip to finish and the doctors to set the boosters.

 

They did have a brief stop on the way home, just a short fifteen minute wait while Chan ran inside the company main office to have a chat with senior management – to inform them of the details of what had happened. When he came back out, he was pale, drawn, and looked like he had been punched in the stomach repeatedly. He didn’t say anything, but the way he glanced guiltily at Jisung halfway curled up on Minho’s lap spoke volumes.

 

“This isn’t your fault,” Minho tried to say, but Chan just shook his head.

 

“He’s – let’s just go home.”

 

And Minho had thought, okay, that’s fine. They can have this conversation later.

 

He wasn’t surprised to see that the others had gone to practice by the time they returned to the dorm, and Chan obviously wanted to run and check on them – but he still hovered around Minho and Jisung awkwardly, watching in silence as Minho fussed once they got Jisung back in bed.

 

“Just go, hyung,” Minho had reassured him. “We’ll be fine. He’s probably going to sleep for the rest of the day.”

 

“What about you?” Chan frowned. “Are you okay?”

 

“Me?” Minho raised his eyebrows. He wasn’t the sick one. “I’m good. Better now that we’ve got a handle on the situation.”

 

“Alright,” Chan had surrendered, almost a little bit too easily, but Minho didn’t mind. “Text me if you want me to pick up anything on our way back. We’ll bring dinner.”

 

“Sounds good,” Minho smiled, and it almost felt genuine. He was still a bit shook, but it helped to have Chan and the others for support.

 

And so, with one final pat on Minho’s shoulder, Chan had left, and Minho’s first day as nurse began.

 

It’s been three days, and he’s still frustrated with himself for not being able to prevent this by actually reacting in time, but at least he feels better knowing that they’re actually doing something, they’re helping Jisung rather than fumbling around in the dark.

 

At least, that’s what he tells himself.

 

He’s not seeing much of an improvement, but the fever has receded somewhat, at least to a less dangerous temperature, and Jisung’s able to swallow things on his own accord now.

 

Baby steps.

 

He’s still not eating much, and lucid moments are rare and far in-between, but Minho is patient. He’s got his plan laid out.

 

Keep Jisung comfortable.

 

Work to get his fever down.

 

Make him swallow his pills.

 

Make him drink.

 

Make him eat.

 

Let him rest. Lots and lots of rest.

 

Repeat.

 

The wet rag is starting to slide down from Jisung’s forehead, so Minho grabs it and puts it in the little water bowl by the bedside to cool it again. The fabric feels warm and clammy in his hands, and Minho sighs quietly as he wrings it out before shifting Jisung’s bangs slightly to put it back on feverish skin.

 

The cold makes Jisung whine a little, nose wrinkling slightly, and Minho shushes his gently. The bedsheets are already damp with sweat, but Minho has long since given up on changing them frequently. The first day, he changed it twice, but it was such an operation every single time, removing Jisung from his bed and making Seungmin and Woojin wash the clammy set only to repeat it a few hours later.

 

It seems almost surreal, but scary, and Minho doesn’t really know how to cope besides investing all his time at Jisung’s bedside, watching over him, holding his hand, stroking his cheeks.

 

It’s a display of futility, but Minho likes to think it helps nonetheless.

 

It helps him, if nothing else.

 

“We’ll go out for bingsu once your throat’s healed, little squirrel,” Minho promises as his fingers comb through Jisung’s hair gently. It’s sweaty and sticking to his forehead, but still feels soft under his touch. Like grass weighed down by morning dew. “Why’d you have to go and get sick like this? You gotta take care of yourself.”

 

Jisung, unsurprisingly, doesn’t really answer, just leans into Minho’s fingers appreciatively.

 

It’s hard knowing when and if Jisung is truly conscious most of the time now. He’s not really coherent, not bright and awake as he usually is, but that also means Minho doesn’t really know how aware Jisung is of his surroundings. If he remembers Minho taking him to the bathroom earlier, if he is aware of the trip to the hospital, if he knows who sits with him most of the time. Does he listen to what Minho is saying? Does he take it to heart? Minho sure hopes so.

 

He would gladly sit around for hours and just whisper loving nonsense into Jisung’s ears, but he also wants Jisung to hear and understand the members’ affection as it’s given freely at this time. Jisung often plays the butt of their collective jokes, a role he plays with great optimism and humour, but sometimes, Minho thinks it must be nice to be reminded that they really, truly do love him.

 

Not that he should ever doubt that, and honestly, Minho doesn’t think he does.

 

But it would still be nice.

 

Nonetheless, when it comes to dealing with Jisung the patient, Minho is the only one who really manages to convince him to do anything more than just flop around on the bed and hoping the infection goes away by itself. He refuses to drink unless Minho practically forces it down his throat, and food has been limited to broth and a bowl of porridge a day. At one point, Felix smuggled him some chocolate which, admittedly, he did eat – albeit at the cost of another spoonful of porridge, but Minho didn’t have the heart to refuse the two of them.

 

The medicine, in particular, is proving to be a point of contention for Jisung and everyone else, as the four pills he’s been prescribed three times a day seem to not only taste relatively unappealingly, but also scratch at Jisung’s throat going down.

 

Minho had spent a solid hour trying to coax Jisung into swallowing the pills during the first day, ending with tears and whines and no small amounts of bribes that were already forgotten by the time the next dosage rolled around again. It has gotten marginally better, if only because Jisung seems to realize that there is no escape.

 

That doesn’t mean it’s easy, Minho thinks bitterly as he prepares the next set of pills from the strip of sealed bags they got from the pharmacy.

 

“Jisung,” he calls softly, waiting to see if there is a reaction.

 

No such luck.

 

“Jisung,” he tries again, a bit louder this time, and strokes a finger over Jisung’s cheek. “Come on, wake up. Pleeeaaase…”

 

“Hyung…” Jisung moans, and buries himself deeper into the blankets, trying to turn away from Minho but only managing to squirm a little instead.

 

Minho sighs and moves from his chair to the edge of the bed.

 

“Hey, Jisungie,” Minho murmurs as he helps Jisung sit up. His torso feels heavy and his head lolls limply, and it’s absolutely heartbreaking to see him so reduced and weak. Minho positions himself behind Jisung, making him lean against his chest and halfway in his lap. Despite his thick sweater, he feels the excess heat radiating from Jisung’s bare skin like a furnace, and though it’s not uncomfortable, it’s certainly unwelcome. “Come on. You gotta take your pills and drink some water.”

 

“Mmmm…” Jisung groans and lets his head fall against Minho’s shoulder. “Don’t wanna. Hurts.”

 

It’s so strange to hear his voice like this, so strained and rough and raspy, thin like smoke and almost as quiet, but Minho catches it nonetheless. It doesn’t sound like Jisung at all – Jisung’s voice is light and airy and crisp, words always spilling out at a mile per minute and barely enunciated enough for Minho to catch all the syllables.

 

Not today.

 

Not for a while now.

 

“I know, love,” he whispers into Jisung’s ear, squeezing his arm gently. “But you have to. You need to get better. The pills will help.”

 

“I’ll take…” Jisung stumbles slightly over the words, but doesn’t seem to notice. So different from his usual impeccable pronunciation. “Later. All later.”

 

“No, you have to take them now,” Minho tells him, still gently. He doesn’t emphasize that ‘later’ incidentally means ‘more pills’. He’s on doses three times a day, but Jisung probably hasn’t figured it out yet. He’s supposed to take them an hour before meals, although Minho has since accepted that the pills go down whenever he can persuade Jisung, and a meal a day will have to suffice at any given time. It’s all Jisung accepts. “I’m sorry, but you have to. Okay?”

 

“Hurts,” Jisung repeats against Minho’s collarbone.

 

“I know, but if you don’t take the pills, it will continue to hurt,” Minho insists, and it almost feels like he’s arguing with a toddler. “Come on. Take them for me, please. I hate to see you like this.”

 

“Extortion…” Jisung mutters, and Minho can’t help but chuckle.

 

“Absolutely,” he agrees. “So come on, now. Down they go.”

 

He holds up the pills and watches Jisung frown in displeasure.

 

“Later…” He tries again, and he sounds so tired and worn that Minho almost surrenders. “It’s not that… Important… I’ll be fine with just…”

 

“No, Jisungie,” Minho tuts and pokes his cheek. “That’s the thing. You didn’t get medicine, and you got really sick. Now you’ve got to take medicine to get well again. Okay? Not later. Now.”

 

“Can I go back to sleep after?”

 

“Of course, Jisungie,” Minho says, kisses the top of his head. It’s slightly gross, his hair is greasy and sweaty, but Minho doesn’t find it in him to care.

 

Not when Jisung sighs and holds out his hand reluctantly, trembling ever so slightly, but at least by his own power. Minho doesn’t waste any time, dropping the four pills into his palm and reaching for the glass of water on the bedside. Jisung glares at the pills for a few seconds before picking up one, the small white one, and gingerly puts it on his tongue. Minho hands him the glass, and after bracing himself against the pain of swallowing, Jisung puts it to his lips and manages to take a small sip, grimacing as it all goes down.

 

“Good boy,” Minho coos and puts his hand over Jisung’s holding the glass in support.

 

“Can I take the others in an hour?” Jisung tries to negotiate, poorly, and Minho can tell that he doesn’t really have any faith in his own suggestion – he’s just trying to be funny, trying to lighten the mood.

 

Minho’s heart swells affectionately.

 

He really loves this boy so much.

 

So he indulges him, chuckles a little before nudging the hand holding the rest of the pills.

 

“Come on,” he says. “The faster you get them down, the faster I’ll leave you alone.”

 

“I don’t want you to leave me, hyung,” Jisung pouts, looking up at him, and oh, god, Minho’s intestines are doing something at that sad puppy expression.

 

“I’m not going to leave you,” he promises, trying not to let his fond exasperation show. “I’m just going to stop bothering you for a while, let you sleep and stuff, right?”

 

“Okay.” Jisung nods, mostly to himself, and rolls the second smallest pill to the tips of his fingers. Minho almost wants to remind him not to drop it, but Jisung’s fingers are nimble at any given day of the week, so it’s nice to see him use some of his usual dexterity despite his state.

 

It still takes him some time, but eventually, Jisung is able to swallow the second pill as well, still making a face when he sips the water.

 

“Halfway there,” Minho soothes, rubbing Jisung’s shoulders. “You’re doing well, love.”

 

“It hurts so much,” Jisung whispers, clenching his fist around the remaining two pills and letting his head fall back to Minho’s shoulder again. He’s shuddering slightly, and Minho hopes he isn’t about to start crying. He can’t handle Jisung crying. “I’m sorry, hyung.”

 

“What for, Jisung-ah?” Minho asks and brushes his hand against Jisung’s cheek. “You’re doing fine.”

 

“Such a fuss,” Jisung mutters quietly, voice cracking ever so slightly. “Making you worry – taking time…”

 

“No, don’t think about that,” Minho reassures him, kissing the top of his head again. “It’s fine. Everyone gets sick sometimes. You’re always doing so much for the rest of us, it’s only fair that we’re able to return the favour sometimes. You just worry about taking your pills and getting better. I know it’s painful and annoying, but just think that you will be up and running again soon, okay? In the meantime, I don’t mind sitting here with you. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

 

He could probably have a fondue party at this point between all the cheese he’s spitting and Jisung’s burning fever, but that’s unimportant right now.

 

The only thing that matters is Jisung. Helping Jisung get better. Helping Jisung feel loved.

 

And the thing is, Jisung doesn’t even tease him for it, just hums and continues to lean on Minho’s shoulder, so he figures it’s a small comfort, after all. Something for Jisung to latch onto through the haze and confusion, something genuine and strong. Minho doesn’t care if he makes himself sound like a fool for it.

 

It’s not like it isn’t true, anyway.

 

“Now, there’s just two more pills,” he starts, gently, nudging Jisung’s hand. “You’re doing so well, it will be over soon.”

 

“I should write a song,” Jisung slurs next to his ear, and Minho resists the urge to sigh.

 

“What about?” He indulges Jisung instead.

 

“… This.” Is all Jisung supplies, unhelpfully, and Minho does roll his eyes at that.

 

“What about?” He tries again. “Being sick?”

 

“For having – “ Jisung starts, but pauses, thinking. Then he frowns, but Minho gives him time, and the frown is soon replaced by a small smile. “For having good friends. And the best hyung. Taking care of me. It’s nice.”

 

“Always, Jisung-ah,” Minho reassures him, happy with the answer. “We’ll always look after you, don’t worry.”

 

“I know.” Jisung turns his head slightly, smiling up at Minho through dazed eyes and droopy bangs. It’s the most beautiful thing Minho has seen. “Hyung is the best.”

 

“Only for you.” Minho scratches his head fondly, resisting the urge to give him a big, soft kiss. No time for that now. “Do you like me enough to take your pills?”

 

For a second, Jisung just stares at him, eyes wide and frozen into an expression of confusion. It’s adorable, too much like a small animal, and Minho does his best to remain firm. Jisung needs to take the pills, needs to drink his water, needs to get better. It’s for his own good.

 

“Okay,” Jisung eventually concedes, and Minho does a little celebratory dance inside his head. He watches as Jisung takes the third pill, the second largest one, and practically tosses it into his mouth before swallowing with a small sip of water.

 

“Good boy,” Minho says again, arms tightening around Jisung’s shoulders. “Only one more to go.”

 

“It’s the biggest one, though,” Jisung pouts, glaring at the offending pink pill resting alone in his palm. “It hurts. Can’t we split it?”

 

“It’s a capsule pill, love, it’s going to have to be like this. I’m sorry.”

 

“Why would they make big pills for people with sore throats?”

 

“It’s a mystery, you’ll have to send an angry letter to the pharmaceuticals,” Minho snorts into Jisung’s neck. “Come on, now. We’ll go back to sleep after, I promise.”

 

“Can you sing for me?” Jisung pleads, and Minho honestly can’t tell if he’s stalling or genuinely wanting to hear his voice.

 

It’s probably a bit of both, but Minho is happy to comply.

 

“If that’s what you want,” he agrees, and reaches out to put his hand over Jisung’s slack fist with the last pill. “Now, come on. Like a bandaid.”

 

“Like swallowing a bandaid,” Jisung mutters, but he does, finally, swallow the pill, and only coughs a little on the water as he tries to force it down. Minho sits him upright again and pats his back gently, waiting for the fit to die out.

 

It does, and much to Minho’s joy, Jisung takes another sip of water completely unprompted afterwards.

 

“You’re doing fine,” he mumbles as he takes the glass from Jisung’s trembling hand and puts it on the table again. It’s a little bit more than half-empty now. “Do you want anything else?”

 

“No,” Jisung shrugs as he shifts around, trying to lay down in a comfortable position. The duvet has been kicked down to the far side of the bed, but he doesn’t make any moves to retrieve it, instead shuffling to lie on his stomach, glancing up at Minho through his bangs. “Thank you, hyung.”

 

“Of course,” Minho smiles, reaches out to caress his cheek softly. “Anything in particular you want me to sing?”

 

“Not really. Something soft?” Jisung scrunches up his nose, and Minho can’t help but chuckle.

 

His repertoire is not terribly impressive, and he does a couple of unsatisfactory renditions of popular ballads before switching to nursery rhymes somewhat awkwardly, but Jisung doesn’t seem to care, already drifting to sleep under Minho’s soft touches and quiet voice.

 

Minho could probably have made any sort of noise, and it would have helped Jisung fall asleep.

 

He often sleeps with his headphones on, Minho has been told, and honestly, he’s not entirely happy about it, but Jisung said it helped him fall asleep while sharing a dorm with others, drowning out their casual noises and making him less mindful of his own, while simultaneously removing some of that itchy stillness that makes him feel trapped in some dream stasis.

 

Minho doesn’t quite get it, but Jisung is a loud person, so it probably makes sense to him.

 

When he’s sure that Jisung has fallen into a deep sleep again, Minho stands up and collects the bowl of water and soaked, half-folded cloths. It’s a little bit too warm now, he should probably switch the water. It’s not going to be of any help like this.

 

With one last glance at Jisung’s softly snoring form, he sneaks out and across the hallway to the bathroom. The dorms are quiet today, with the kids at school and Changbin and Chan at the studio. He’s not sure where Woojin is, but probably training as well.

 

It’s all they seem to be doing these days, and if it wasn’t for Jisung’s illness, they would both be there as well.

 

It’s not exactly a break, Minho thinks. Jisung is certainly not easing through these days, and as he fills up the bowl with cold water, he pointedly ignores his own tired expression reflected in the mirror. Maybe it’s not dancing and singing and filming shows like they’ve done before, but it’s not exactly a period of rest either.

 

There is a constant, aching spot somewhere in his stomach, a knot that won’t be relieved until Jisung is back to his normal bouncy, loud self. It’s a worry, and a regret – worry that Jisung won’t get better, that it’s taking so long, that he will be mentally or physically exhausted by this for a long time. Regret – that he has to go through it, that despite their proud, tight bonds within the group, they were unable to prevent this.

 

Maybe they have become wiser now. Maybe they will catch it the next time, and none of their members have to go through similar experiences. That’s good. That’s a positive take-away from this.

 

Minho just wishes Jisung didn’t have to be the metaphorical sacrificial lamb.

 

When he returns, Jisung hasn’t moved an inch, still resting with his head pillowed on his arms, but Minho can see the sweat starting to build again like a thin layer of pearls, and he can’t help the small sigh he lets out at the sight.

 

But at least Jisung’s asleep.

 

So Minho puts the bowl down and wrings out one of the cloths, the coolness giving him goosebumps despite the clammy atmosphere of the room, and folds it twice before gently putting it down on the back of Jisung’s neck. He shudders a little bit at the coldness, but if he wakes up, he falls asleep again almost immediately after, and Minho hopes it can be some form of relief against the stubborn fever.

 

Then there is nothing more he can do besides keeping his faithful vigil, and though the inertia makes him a little bit antsy, he knows there is no use in fussing about too much. So he takes the opportunity to sit back in his chair and check his messages, see if any of the members have tried to contact him.

 

It’s not much, just a few updates from Chan on his and Changbin’s endeavours, questions about dance routines, inquiries of Jisung’s health.

 

He snaps a picture of Jisung’s sleeping face and types a quick response, asking when they’re coming back. Could be whenever, but Minho likes to keep tabs on where the others are, although his priorities have been otherwise engaged.

 

Chan’s answer comes quickly, giving an overview of the member’s schedule that day, promising to be back as soon as possible, though there is really no rush in Minho’s opinion.

 

They’re just going to stay right here, he thinks.

 

The others have stuff to do, they come and go while they’re still on a relatively free schedule – the management has been a bit lenient since Jisung fell ill, and since they have just finished promotions, there shouldn’t be too much to do.

 

Minho’s not naïve enough to think it’s going to last, though.

 

If there’s one thing he has learned, it’s that the music industry is brutal and harsh, both in the public eye and behind the curtains.

 

He glances at Jisung’s little frown and bites his lip.

 

Would Jisung have fallen ill if they were not idols? If he was still a trainee, or just a regular high school student cramming for his entrance exams?

 

Maybe.

 

Jisung goes all in regardless of what he’s doing, and Minho can imagine him being one of the students who stay up until past their alarm, just trying to get that final formula into their brain before the test, studying their vocabulary on the bus, traveling for hours to get to that best school.

 

He snorts at the thought.

 

In an alternative universe, Jisung could have been Seungmin.

 

Seungmin is that kind of student, only, slightly more sensible, Minho thinks. But he’s so terrifyingly clever. It scares him, sometimes, to think that Seungmin is just eighteen. He acts like someone much older. There is a maturity about him that Minho somehow feels that he himself has yet to reach, and it makes him both proud and sad.

 

Seungmin is a child.

 

So is Felix, Jeongin, Hyunjin and Jisung.

 

They shouldn’t have all these burdens put on them already, even if they chose it themselves. Did they even realize, when they entered the company, what was in store for them? Could they imagine?

 

Are they happy now? Or overwhelmed?

 

Minho doesn’t know, and he’s afraid to ask.

 

He’s afraid of the answer.

 

He knows that they are happy – if nothing else. But happy because they get to make music, stand on stage, reached a goal at the end of a tunnel? Because they have friends by their side? Because they have fans?

 

Are they happy enough to make up for the additional troubles they have to go through?

 

He doesn’t think Jeongin realized there would now be girls following him everywhere, doesn’t think Seungmin realized his idol career would so dramatically impact his academic pursuits. Doesn’t think Felix realized the extent of Korean fluency he would need just to be accepted on the stage, doesn’t think Hyunjin was ready for the pressure of remaining impeccable at all times by virtue of his position as visual.

 

There are a lot of things they all have to consider and sacrifice, every single day, and Minho doesn’t know if their youngest realized what kind of life they threw themselves into before they even grew up.

 

It’s a scary thought, but Minho couldn’t be prouder of them.

 

They are doing so well – _so well_.

 

He just hopes they will be able to back each other up when times get tough, when they face new challenges and have their first scandals (because in one shape or form, _there will be some_ ), when things are not just hard, but downright _impossible._

The idol scene is terrifying, Minho thinks.

 

But this is what he wanted.

 

This is what he worked towards, the thing he wanted the most.

 

And now he’s sharing it with the best team members he could ever hope for.

 

He shouldn’t complain, and really, he isn’t, but he knows. He _knows_ where they are coming from and where they are going, and he _knows_ they all better stay ready for tough times ahead.

 

He looks down at Jisung fondly.

 

It’s going to get worse, but Jisung is unfettered. Jisung is determined and strong and an optimist, and Minho will do anything to keep that most precious smile safe.

 

He dozes off a little bit to his wandering thoughts, only waking when he hears the shuffling and muted voices in the hallway, announcing the discrete arrival of at least some of the other members, and a quick glance at his watch reveals the time to be somewhere in the late afternoon.

 

The commotion seems to rouse Jisung just a little bit, not enough to wake him, but enough to make him turn over, cloth sliding off in the process, and Minho reaches out to take it. Might as well cool it off again, he thinks and soaks it before putting it back on Jisung’s forehead. He has to shift some of the bangs away to make it work, and they stick up awkwardly, but it’s still so cute and so _Jisung_ that Minho has to smile.

 

It’s such a far cry from his stage persona that it seems almost surreal, but here they are.

 

The soft touch makes Jisung stir a bit again, mumbling something incoherently as one of his hands starts to move aimlessly, twitching a little bit by the edge of the bed.

 

Minho reaches out to take it.

 

“It’s okay, love,” he says, soothingly, rubbing gentle circles on the back of Jisung’s hand. “It’s just the others. You’re fine. Go back to sleep.”

 

There is probably no real understanding involved in Jisung’s hazy moment of wakefulness, but he obeys nonetheless and stills shortly after. Minho doesn’t go out to greet the others, but stays in his seat, holding Jisung’s hand gingerly. It’s warm and slightly clammy, but he’s fine with that. It’s okay.

 

The sounds die out soon after, and Minho figures they have settled in properly for the evening. He’ll talk to them later.

 

Not like there’s any rush in anything right now.

 

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, idly rubbing his fingers across Jisung’s hand, but gradually the skies behind the curtains turn dark, falling into a warm yellow shade instead of the bright whiteness of the spring sun. The curtains are mostly drawn anyway, to keep from aggravating Jisung’s headaches, but there is a slight opening that lets Minho look out if he wants to.

 

He hasn’t been outside in a couple of days, he realizes with dull surprise. He’s just stayed in here. With Jisung.

 

Which is… fine, he supposes, given that things are as they are, but it’s still an odd conclusion to reach. He can’t think of the last time he stayed coped up in one place for so long, and in any other situation, it would probably make him a bit anxious.

 

But he can’t find it in him to care now.

 

Jisung needs him, and that’s all there is to it.

 

It’s a comforting thought, solid, and purposeful, and Minho holds onto it as he has since that terrifying morning when Jisung refused to wake up, when Minho swore to himself that he would make sure Jisung was alright again as soon as possible.

 

Then there is a quiet knock on the door, and Minho is torn out of his thoughts like the snap of a rubber band.

 

“Hey,” Felix says from the doorway.

 

Minho looks up, eyebrows raised in a silent question. His hand doesn’t leave Jisung’s.

 

“I’ll sit with him for a while,” Felix says, nodding his head back out to the hallway. “Go take a break. Get a shower or a nap or lunch, or something. Some fresh air, I guess.”

 

“I’m good,” Minho starts, shaking his head. “I’m – it’s fine, he isn’t – “

 

“Sorry, that wasn’t a suggestion, hyung,” Felix smiles sheepishly. “Get a break. Chan-hyung’s orders. Jisung will be fine, I’ll look after him while you get yourself sorted out, just for a while, yeah?”

 

Minho pauses.

 

His stomach churns uncomfortably at the thought of leaving Jisung’s side when he’s still not well, when he’s still in pain and helpless. He needs to be around to make sure he’s healing well, that he doesn’t get worse, that he feels safe and loved if he wakes up in some delirious state. That’s his first priority – he can handle being a bit tired, breathing through the stuffy air and eating the leftover soup he fails to coax down Jisung’s throat along with the pills he’s slowly coming to resent for their frightening size, if nothing else. It should only be about a week or so, maybe two given the severity of the infection, but that’s still a short period of time. Once Jisung is coherent enough to take care of himself, Minho will be kicked back to the practice room along with everyone else, so he wants to spend his time well, to make sure Jisung is fully on his way back to recovery before he’s forced to leave him alone in the dorms again.

 

What if something happens when he’s not there?

 

What if Jisung wakes up to abandonment and loneliness?

 

Minho promised he wouldn’t leave him alone. He can’t walk away from that promise, not when Jisung’s still in a fragile state of mind.

 

Jisung needs him.

 

But that’s not a rational trail of thought at all, Minho knows. The hesitancy is just borne of a fond protectiveness, and while Felix is whimsical and impulsive, sometimes even distracted, he’s Jisung’s best friend above all – a concerned best friend.

 

Sometimes Minho forgets that Jisung isn’t only his.

 

Jisung was the maknae of 3RACHA before Stray Kids even existed, Jeongin’s roommate and older brother, Felix’s best friend, Hyunjin and Seungmin’s agemates…

 

They all have a right to worry, and a right to be involved in his recovery. It’s not that Minho wants to keep Jisung to himself, necessarily, he could never do that – Jisung is simply _too much_ to be isolated to one person, one relationship, but it’s been so easy to immerse himself into the nursing role that he’s forgotten that the others have a stake in the situation as.

 

He should be able to trust Felix with Jisung, at least for a little while. Most likely, Jisung will just sleep on fitfully; Minho has been able to soothe his feverish fidgeting through gentle touches and soft lullabies, and Felix will be able to do the same.

 

Jisung won’t feel lost with Felix by his side.

 

And it will probably be a refreshing change of scenery to get out for a little while, revitalizing, in a sense. He can better take care of Jisung if he affords himself a break to recharge.

 

Right?

 

Minho knows this, objectively, but it is still hard to let go of Jisung’s hand when he moves to put it on the bed.

 

“I’ll look after him, hyung,” Felix repeats with a smile, coming to stand behind Minho. “We’ve had sleepovers before.”

 

And Minho half intends to point out that it hardly counts as a sleepover when they’ve been staying in the same dorm since Felix came to Korea, but that would be pointless bickering and absolutely just an excuse for him to stall.

 

He’s an adult.

 

He can do this.

 

“Just make him drink something when he wakes up,” he sighs, standing up and eyeing the full pitcher on the table behind the bed. “He’ll let you know if he wants to use the bathroom or another blanket or something, but he’s not going to drink on his own accord, so you’ve got to force him. Just be annoying and persistent, he’s going to fall for it.”

 

“I’m an expert at annoying and persistent,” Felix declares proudly, and although Minho is about 70% sure Felix doesn’t know the Korean word for ‘persistent’, he probably understood the general gist of it. Felix is a bright boy.

 

He smiles.

 

“I know,” he says, and leans over to ruffle Felix’s hair. It’s perfectly unstyled and a bit damp, and for a change, Felix looks like the kid he is. He’s so young, but so brave, so talented, so determined. Sometimes Minho has to step back and think about that, how these kids have managed so much already – how ready they are to conquer the world before they’ve even lived two decades. When he sees Felix on stage, he doesn’t see a foreign, young boy grasping at straws, but instead a powerful and charismatic performer who can only grow, someone with stories to tell, and the skills to do so.

 

Just like Jisung.

 

They’re not that much younger than Minho, but somehow, the gap seems exacerbated by the fact that he feels like they are miles ahead of him already. Jisung teaching him how to rap the lyrics he wrote himself, Felix demonstrating how to command the stage instead of just building it up, even Jeongin and his dogged persistence to make his own impact on the music scene, in whatever shape or form that might be.

 

He can learn so much from his dongsaengs – but at the end of the day, they are just kids.

 

Kids, who get confused, get hurt, get sick.

 

Sometimes they need to be taken care of.

 

But Minho thinks he shouldn’t underestimate them either.

 

He has learned better by now.

 

In his own humility, he nearly lost them, once. He always thought his dancing made him special, made him a talent as well, but then he looks at this team Chan has gathered, this team of extremely promising young boys, and he wonders – does he really fit in with them? It was a painful lesson to learn, but surely one he needed, that his seniority in age means nothing once they are on the stage. He had tried, so hard, put so much effort into becoming better and improving, only to let them down in the end. These innocent kids, cheering for him, helping him – and he failed them. It was devastating, and he half couldn’t believe it when he heard him and Felix were given a second chance.

 

But unlike his disbelief, Felix showed nothing but insistence and determination, and Minho learned something new that day as well.

 

He learned something about getting back up after being kicked down.

 

Where would he be without these kids?

 

It’s his turn to return their favours and their faith, now and until forever.

 

But he won’t take their help for granted again. They’re too precious for him.

 

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” he says, eyes lingering at Jisung’s still sleeping face. “If there’s anything at all, you can call me, or – uhm, get Chan-hyung to help you – “

 

“Minho-hyung,” Felix cuts him off with a look. “It’s fine. He’s not dying or anything, we’ll be just fine while you go recover. Spend your time well, okay?”

 

“Okay,” Minho concedes, walking away. “Okay. You’re right. Thanks, Felix.”

 

Felix smiles. “Anytime, hyung.”

 

It’s hard to take that final step outside, but Felix’s good promises forces Minho’s feet away, keeps them pointed in the right direction, keeps him from turning around and running back to creep in under the covers with Jisung and stay there until he magically heals.

 

He manages.

 

But even as he turns around the corner and leaves Felix with Jisung, he can’t help but linger, just outside the door. It’s like that final step, that definite release of his responsibility is weighing him back, even though he knows he should just walk away and use his time wisely.

 

It’s just difficult to leave Jisung.

 

He leans against the wall with a small sigh, trying to collect himself and surrender, and then he hears Felix’s voice inside the door.

 

“Hey mate,” Felix says, lowly and quietly, soothingly soft over the silence of the room. It’s not for Minho. “You’re not looking so hot right now. Pale and sweaty is not really the in-look for the season.”

 

Then he chuckles quietly, and Minho has to bite his lip to keep the tears at bay.

 

“But you’ll be fine,” Felix continues fondly, as there’s a quiet ruffling sound, like he’s shifting on the chair or moving the duvet. “I know you’ll be. Just take your time.”

 

There is a small pause again.

 

Then -

 

“Minho-hyung is really worried about you.”

 

Minho feels his chest seize.

 

“He’s taking care of you so well, but he’s not really good at taking care of himself at the same time. I wish he would start doing that, we’re all ready to help,” Felix continues, and maybe, just maybe, he anticipated that Minho would stick around a little longer after all. “I know it’s only because he cares about you, but so do we, and we care about him, too. I think you would be so mad if you were actually in a state of mind to realize what he’s doing.”

 

Felix chuckles again, fondly and a little thickly.

 

“Get well soon, yeah? We miss you, Ji. It will be nice to get my buddy back, after all of this.”

 

And then he says something in English that Minho doesn’t quite understand, and he takes the opportunity to force his legs to move towards the kitchen.

 

The dorm is oddly deserted, or at least oddly quiet, and Seungmin is the only one in the living room when Minho walks by, engulfed in some thick book with his headphones firmly in place. He glances up when Minho passes him, giving him a brief, encouraging smile before turning back to his book.

 

Minho appreciates that.

 

He can’t handle the members building pillows around him and walking on glass just to make sure he doesn’t shatter under Jisung’s illness. It’s not right, and it’s not fair, and it’s not their biggest concern right now.

 

Chan is in the kitchen, sitting at the table with a cup of coffee and his laptop, but he closes it immediately when Minho enters.

 

“Hey,” he says, leaning back in the chair. “Finally taking a break?”

 

“Yeah, Felix said you made him kick me out,” Minho snorts, and starts rummaging through the cupboard for a glass.

 

“He’s not wrong,” Chan shrugs. “I do think you need a little breather. I know it’s hard on you, with Jisung being out of commission and stuff, but we’re all here to help.”

 

“Sure,” Minho grunts, not unconvinced – he just doesn’t have the energy to express the proper gratitude the sentiment deserves, but he can’t really find it in himself to care.

 

Chan knows.

 

There is a slight pause as he pours his water and takes a sip, cold and soothing down his throat. He wishes Jisung could experience the same relief these days, but no such luck.

 

The thought makes Minho frown as he fills the glass again.

 

“How is he?” Chan asks, eyes following Minho’s movements with concern.

 

And honestly, Minho can’t do anything but shrug in response. “He’s okay. Still feverish. Still not entirely lucid the few minutes he does wake up.”

 

“But he’s getting better?”

 

“Well, he’s certainly not getting _worse,_ which is a positive change,” Minho says, upper lip curling in displeasure. Although it started as a gradual descent into a cold, the infection took a sharp twist and sent Jisung from mildly tired with a sore throat to a full-blown incapacitated state within two days. It had been a terrible thing to witness, something Minho never wanted to see again.

 

Jisung shouldn’t be limp and quiet like this. He should be up and happy and bubbly and all over the place, annoying as it can be at other times.

 

Minho isn’t going to complain ever again.

 

“Is he responding to the medicine?” Chan persists, shoving his coffee cup across the table for Minho to take a sip as he sits down.

 

“Thanks.” Minho grabs it eagerly and chugs half of it immediately, the scald feeling good down his throat. A contrast to the cool water, but a welcome one – a shock to his system, a wake-up call. “Dunno. The painkiller’s not quite there, I think, he still moves as if he’s in pain.”

 

“That could just be the fever making him antsy, though,” Chan points out in what Minho assumes is supposed to be an optimistic tone.

 

He shrugs again. “I guess. The antibiotics are probably working, since he’s kind of improving, ish. But he’s not getting enough liquid in him, he refuses to swallow, says it hurts. Which I get, but it’s… He was so dehydrated, hyung, I just want him to get better.”

 

“I know,” Chan smiles gently and takes his coffee cup back, patting Minho’s hand as he does. “We all do. And he’ll get there. Just don’t make yourself sick in the process, okay?”

 

“I don’t really get sick,” Minho snorts. “But don’t worry, I’m eating my vitamins and washing my hands and stuff.”

 

“And no kissing.”

 

“No kissing, thanks, mother.”

 

“Watch your tone, little boy,” Chan retorts in his best grandmother voice, and Minho throws up a little bit in his mouth.

 

“Go back to your producing or something,” he mutters. “I think I’ll take a walk. Do we need anything? I can stop by a shop.”

 

“No, we’re fine,” Chan nods. “But that sounds like a good idea. Get a cup of tea and walk around the block. Actually, walk to the park, take a few minutes at a bench to calm down. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the spring flowers are in full blossom, so it should be a sight for your tired eyes. Not saying anything bad about Jisung’s visuals, but I’m sure you’ll get tired of watching his face for hours upon hours.”

 

“I would give you so much salt for that, but I have no words,” Minho rolls his eyes. “Just call me if anything happens, okay?”

 

“You better not expect a phone call from me,” Chan snorts. “Unless he goes into cardiac arrest, I wouldn’t dream of disturbing your precious break.”

 

When Minho doesn’t answer, just stares at him with a mildly horrified expression, Chan groans in exasperation and slams his head on the table.

 

“He’s not going to go into cardiac arrest, he has a throat infection! Now go, you mongoose.”

 

“Don’t joke about this, hyung,” Minho points out, but Chan only sighs and leans over to flick his forehead.

 

“You’re worrying too much. This is a sign that you’ve been held up in that room far too long! We’ll look after him, none of us want anything but the best for Jisung and it’s tough seeing him in such a state. But you’re not doing anyone any favours like this, so get this all out of your system and start over again, okay?”

 

“Fine,” Minho sighs and moves to get up, but stops halfway towards the door.

 

There is something that has been nagging at him, lingering at the back of his mind while he’s been preoccupied with Jisung. It’s not exactly something he wants to acknowledge, but maybe it’s the least he could do to address it, for Chan’s sake, if nothing else.

 

“So hey, uhm, I’ve been meaning to ask…” Minho starts slowly, glancing away from Chan’s raised eyebrow.

 

“You’ve been busy,” he comments, drily but not unkindly.

 

“Yes, well, that,” Minho shrugs. “But that day we took him to the hospital, and you went to talk to the management…”

 

He trails a little bit uncertainly, unsure if it’s really his place to outright ask Chan what had happened, why he looked so shook afterwards.

 

But the question is obvious enough, and Chan drags his hand across his face with a great sigh at the memory.

 

“Right,” he mutters. “So they… Yeah, they weren’t happy with it. At all. Uhm… You don’t need to know all the details, but they were basically giving me shit for not being able to look after my members. I mean, they’re not wrong – “

 

“Of course they are,” Minho interrupts, frown deepening. “This… These things happen. Hyung _, I_ didn’t even catch the severity of it to begin with. Don’t make this your fault.”

 

“One of the conditions of us being able to do our own thing is that we take care of all of these things,” Chan states with an odd look. “We make our own stuff, we delegate responsibilities, routines, all of it. But our job is not just to look after the music. We also need to take care of our images and ourselves. Unless we can prove to them that we are able to stay afloat on our own, they’re going to start micromanaging us like children, and I don’t know about you, but I’m _done_ with that.”

 

Minho winces.

 

He knows – they all prefer it when they’re left alone as much as possible, and especially Chan seems to grow a few cancer cells whenever senior management attempts to direct or control their movements. They don’t trust them, after all, not yet, and maybe not ever. To Minho, it feels a little bit like being at war with their own company, and it’s _stressful,_ and _tiring_ to feel like they have to battle a current instead of getting the support and care that they need in a situation like this.

 

He gets why Chan is so frustrated.

 

But the fate of Stray Kids is not just on his shoulders.

 

“Just tell us what to do, hyung,” he says, not knowing what else Chan could possibly need to hear. “We’re all trying our best, and we’re all working towards the same goal. We’ll defer to your judgements, if you’re willing to delegate it to us.”

 

“Of course I – “ Chan starts, but cuts himself off with a hum. “I mean… I just want to help you guys through it all. I hate to see you suffering.”

 

“I know, but none of that is your fault,” Minho insists. “Jisung getting sick had nothing to do with you, and there’s nothing you could have done to stop it. We just have to do our best to fix it, together.”

 

Chan smirks. “See, now even you are admitting that this is a team effort.”

 

Minho blinks.

 

“I didn’t – “

 

“I know, it’s hard to be a concerned boyfriend,” Chan waves him off with a small, affectionate smile. “I guess this has been a wake-up call for all of us. It’s not easy being an idol, and we all have to be aware of that. It feels like we should all have some kind of sit-together once everything’s settled back to normal.”

 

And that, that kind of sounds fair, Minho supposes.

 

They’ve all been placing unrealistic expectations upon themselves and, by extension, each other. None of them are allowed to strive for mediocrity. No one is supposed to be weak.

 

As if acknowledging humanity is acknowledging a fault.

 

He knows this, he’s been thinking about it, but really, maybe he didn’t pay enough attention to the simple, undeniable fact that it applies to _everyone,_ and not just the youngest.

 

By extension, he supposed in resignation, that also means him.

 

“You’re right,” he sighs, finally, and walks over to pat Chan’s shoulder. “You’re always right. I guess this is why you’re the leader. Imagine if you’d debuted years ago and been someone’s maknae? Nah, that doesn’t sound right. You were always meant to be our captain.”

 

“Kind words,” Chan remarks, but smiles at Minho nonetheless. “Be sure to remember them tomorrow when I need help in the kitchen.”

 

“Please, you’ve got other helpers,” Minho snorts in return, and moves to the hallway again. “You don’t need me.”

 

“Minho, pleaseee,” Chan whines, and who’s the oldest again? “The kids don’t know how to cook, I need someone who actually has an understanding of both the food pyramid _and_ the stove. Did you know that Hyunjin managed to burn a tea towel yesterday because he turned on the wrong plate and didn’t even realize until the thing was on fire? Like, how do you not notice that? And Felix, bless his heart, spent an hour cutting up kimchi. An hour! Please please please help.”

 

Minho rolles his eyes fondly. “We can have this discussion tomorrow, hyung. I’m leaving now.”

 

“Okay, okay,” Chan throws his hands up in surrender, and Minho thinks he sees a little smirk before it is quickly covered up by Chan’s patented Stern LeaderTM  look. “When you go out now, I don’t want to see your face again for another two hours, at least. I don’t really care what you do, as long as you don’t go to the studio, because you know I got contacts who will rat you out. Do some self-care. Useful stuff. Alright?”

 

“Yessir,” Minho answers dutifully, and slinks away under Chan’s watchful look. He remembers to snag his wallet from the pocket of an old leather jacket on the way out, briefly considering if he needs more than the heavy hoodie he’s wearing before deciding not to.

 

The sun has been out all day, the air is humid and summer is approaching rapidly. He’ll be fine.

 

Besides, maybe a touch of cool air will be a welcome contrast to the hot, clammy bedroom he’s been stuck in for the past couple of days.

 

It’s not Jisung’s fault, but now that Minho’s actually moving outside to feel the breeze on his cheeks, the half-fresh air of Seoul in the evening, he can appreciate some time away from nursing duties.

 

Chan was right, of course, as always.

 

The second he leaves the apartment building, a small weight lifts off his shoulders, releasing him, soothing his lungs and temporarily pacify the knot in his stomach. It feels weird, but nice, and when he starts walking, he feels the muscles in his legs tingle with excitement at the prospect of finally being able to stretch and work again.

 

It’s a surprising relief, but not an unwelcome one.

 

 

He walks around the neighbourhood aimlessly as he considers it – why is this so easy now? When Felix collected him, he had been so hesitant to leave. Scared, almost, although for what, he couldn’t exactly say. Jisung didn’t need _him,_ not specifically, he just needed care.

 

It had been so easy for Minho to give himself to the task. So easy that he didn’t even have to announce his intentions, he just _did_ it. And no one objected, because why would they? Of course Minho wouldn’t sit idly by while Jisung was sick. Of course he would do whatever he could to help him recover.

 

Every time someone asked him if he needed help, if he wanted to go do something else, he had refused.

 

No, he was fine.

 

No, he would worry anyway.

 

No, Jisung is too fussy, he would deal.

 

Everyone else surely had more important things to do, anyway.

 

Not that Jisung isn’t important – _on the contrary,_ but everyone else has so much to do, so many things going on all the time – Felix with his Korean, Chan and Changbin producing songs, the kids with school, Woojin with singing, all of it. It had been okay for Minho to take care of Jisung. He could spare the time.

 

And even if he couldn’t, he was willing to make the sacrifice to ensure that Jisung wouldn’t stay alone.

 

That had all been fine.

 

Except, Minho thinks as he stands in line at the coffee shop and smells clean, healthy people, the fresh aroma of grounded coffee, feels the soft coolness from the air condition and the quiet buzz from workers, students and old friends chatting idly… Maybe it hadn’t been quite as fine as he thought.

 

He takes his iced tea with him outside and heads for the small park area nested between high blocks and busy roads. It’s nothing big or fancy, just a touch of green between concrete, glass and steel beams, something refreshing, something soothing. He finds a sizeable tree trunk and settles against it, feeling the softness of spring grass under him and the mottled hardness of the tree against his back.

 

He wants to laugh and cry at the same time.

 

Cry, because his heart still bleeds for Jisung, involuntarily and unnaturally confined to a bed while the rest of them move on, spring happens, their fans multiply daily and Minho is able to do something as simple as drinking his tea without tearing up his throat in the process. It’s not fair, that Jisung got sick and has to go through all of this, fighting his own body just to be able to function again. He must be so sad, Minho thinks, sad and confused and in pain… Minho just wants to help him recover from all of that.

 

But then again, he also wants to laugh, because right now, he knows there is nothing he can do to help Jisung. He has tended to him since the moment they came back from the hospital, hasn’t left his side for more than a minute, has done whatever he could to help. But now, it’s out of his hands. Now it’s Felix and Chan, watching over him lovingly like the good friends they are, and that, that’s okay too. Jisung will be just fine without Minho for a couple of hours, and it’s such a refreshing, gratifying thought that Minho can’t help but chuckle.

 

Jisung has other friends. Other _brothers._

He will be fine even if Minho isn’t perfect.

 

The thought stays with him as he takes his sweet time finishing his tea, watching doves flock together on the grass before him, listens to the traffic slowly die out as night approaches. It’s a moment of peace, tranquillity, just as static and slow as his days inside the dorm, but somehow, infinitely more peaceful. He catches himself wishing for another warm, soft body to cuddle and share the snapshot with, but at the same time, it’s nice to be alone for a change.

 

Not just because of Jisung’s sickness.

 

They have all been crowding each other since debut – since the survival show, really, and apart from training, Minho doesn’t think he’s had a single moment to himself since this whole mess started. Not that he minds, terribly, he likes people, likes the atmosphere between the members.

 

But sometimes, he doesn’t hear himself think, and he didn’t even realize how stressful that could be.

 

He’s sure he’s not the only one.

 

On his way back, he stops by the coffee shop again and picks up eight new orders – a difficult carry, but worth it. The soft smell brings a smile to his face as he makes the trek up the stairs to their apartment, and he hopes they’re all back home by now.

 

As one of the oldest, he probably shouldn’t condone caffeine so late in the evening, but half of these drinks are more sugar than coffee anyway, and once in a while, the kids should be allowed to be spoilt. Minho knows there aren’t anyone else around to do it for them, at least.

 

He finds Chan in the kitchen still, headphones in place and back turned against Minho, and he can’t help but smile fondly before placing the heavy cardboard cup on the table next to the notebook. Chan jumps a little, sliding off his headphones to blink owlishly up at him.

 

“Minho?” He questions, eyeing the bag cautiously. “What’s this?”

 

Minho just smiles. “Thank you for your hard work, hyung. We would be so lost without you.”

 

And then he takes off before Chan has the chance to gather his thoughts, but Minho doesn’t really care.

 

He finds Jeongin, Seungmin and Hyunjin in the living room, caught in some argument about senior singers that Minho doesn’t really bother trying to understand, but they cease as he approaches with the tray of overly sweet, sugary coffee and puts it to the center of the table.

 

“Hyung, what’s this?” Hyunjin asks, staring at the cups.

 

Minho shrugs.

 

“You’ve been working so hard lately,” he says, evasively, and waves a hand around. “I thought you deserved something nice for it.”

 

“You didn’t have to,” Seungmin frowns, modest as he is. “But thanks, anyway. That’s very kind of you.”

 

“It’s my pleasure,” Minho waves them off, and starts pointing at the cups. “Here’s vanilla latte for Seungmin, hot chocolate for Jeongin, cappuccino for Hyunjin. Drink well!”

 

“We will!” Jeongin promises and grabs his cocoa with a nearly childish delight, smelling the hot air coming out of the small holes in the plastic. Then he turns back to Minho with an almost embarrassed look, carefully glancing in the direction of the bedrooms. “How’s Jisung-hyung?”

 

“He’s getting there,” Minho answers vaguely, because it’s not entirely untrue. They’re not moving backwards.

 

“It’s so quiet without him,” Hyunjin mutters, shoulders drooping just a little bit. “I feel so bad for not noticing earlier…”

 

Seungmin hums in agreement, but Minho is quick to shake his head.

 

“No,” he says, almost briskly. He will not have the youngest feel bad about this. “None of us saw it coming, not even Jisungie, I think. There’s no reason to be upset, okay? He’ll be up and about soon enough.”

 

Seungmin is about to say something else, but he’s interrupted by the sound of the door slamming open and a heavy, breathy groan.

 

Woojin.

 

Minho ruffles Jeongin’s hair and stands up, taking the bag with him.

 

“We’ll all be fine,” he says as a final parting before heading out to greet Woojin.

 

He’s been taking up jogging at odd hours to improve his lung capacity, something Minho has to admire – after long days of singing and dancing, when the rest of them just want to fall into bed and snore the night away, Woojin somehow finds the strength and determination to go for a run. It’s not something he used to do before his trainee days, Minho knows, but oh, the things people do to push themselves. It’s fascinating, and Minho is so happy to have Woojin on his team.

 

“Hyung,” he greets as Woojin shuffles off his shoes by the door. “Good timing.”

 

Woojin glances up in confusion, but grins when he sees the plastic container Minho holds out for him.

 

“Is that mango I smell?” He says, wiggling his brow and making sweat run down into his eyes.

 

Minho chuckles.

 

“Freshly grounded and iced, yes,” he says.

 

“What’s the occasion?” Woojin asks as he reaches out to take the drink, breaths still heaving slightly.

 

Minho shrugs. “No reason. Just felt like we all needed a little treat these days.”

 

“You’re not wrong,” Woojin snorts and begins slurping his drink gratefully. “God, that’s good. Thanks, Minho.”

 

“Anytime,” Minho grins, and pats Woojin’s shouder affectionately. “Now go take a shower, hyung. You smell.”

 

“So do you,” Woojin points out, and Minho half-winces, because he knows it’s true. Personal hygiene hasn’t been on the top of his priorities for the past few days.

 

“Duly noted,” he says, stepping aside to let Woojin pass. “But yours is more urgent. I still have stuff to do.”

 

Woojin’s smile falters slightly. “Jisungie?”

 

“He will be fine,” Minho says simply, and if he says it enough, he can force himself to believe it. He can force himself to believe it will be true too soon.

 

But Woojin seems to accept the answer for what it is, and gives Minho a brief hug (much to his disgust) before moving down towards the bathroom.

 

Minho briefly glances through the other bedrooms, but doesn’t find anyone, and trudges down to the makeshift sickroom instead.

 

The sight that greets him makes his heart flutter.

 

Felix is sitting cross-legged at the foot end of the bed, while Changbin leans against the headboard with Jisung tucked against his chest protectively. Jisung looks half-asleep, but he’s smiling, him and Changbin looking at Felix as he runs through some rap verses Minho vaguely recognizes as a 3RACHA song. It’s a little bit clumsy and without the smooth flow and speed of the original, but Jisung and Changbin look so proud of his efforts, and when Felix stumbles through a particularly tough tongue twister, Changbin stops him to correct his pronunciation almost painfully patient, enunciating each syllable softly to make sure Felix can follow.

 

Minho sees Jisung’s fingers twitching slightly, shoulders still rolling a little bit as if uncomfortable, but Changbin merely rubs his arms as he continues the lesson, and Minho thinks Jisung looks happy with that.

 

Happy to be a part of something. Happy for the normalcy.

 

Happy to be loved.

 

Minho doesn’t do anything to bring attention to himself, satisfied to just stand quietly in the doorway and watch the scene with a content little smile, but surprisingly, it’s Jisung who notices him first.

 

“Hyung,” he croaks out softly, making Felix and Changbin stop to look at him as well.

 

“Hi, Jisungie,” he says, moving forward to settle on the chair once more, but this time, it doesn’t feel quite as discomforting. “How are you feeling?”

 

Jisung opts to give him a thumbs up in lieu of answering, but his eyes are wide and glittering as he looks up at Minho, and he looks so, so perfect that Minho has to make a conscious effort just to keep breathing.

 

“He’s lying,” Felix insists with a grin, exaggerating his recoil when Jisung pouts and weakly kicks after him.

 

“He ate his porridge, though,” Changbin says brightly and pats Jisung’s shoulder. “Complaining the entire time, but down it went. He’s such a dramaqueen, honestly.”

 

“I’m not,” Jisung mumbles, but looks down with a slight blush, or it might just be the fever. Minho doesn’t really care.

 

“Then I hope you’re all up for dessert,” he says, putting the bag in the bed. Only three cups left now, so it’s a little bit unsteady, but Felix is quick to reach out for it and peer inside.

 

“Hyung, you got us coffee?” He exclaims, grinning brightly. “Thanks!”

 

“It’s the least I could do after stranding you with this one,” Minho smirks, nodding towards Jisung, who, to his credit, only whines and buries himself further in Changbin’s hold. He’s probably too tired to argue, Minho realizes. “Don’t complain, Jisung-ah, I got you Jasmine as well, if you think you can manage it.”

 

Jisung makes some sort of non-committal noise in response, but he smiles up at Minho again, and he thinks, that will have to suffice.

 

He almost expects Changbin and Felix to leave now that he’s back to take up his nursing duties again, but much to his surprise, they stay – chatting idly while sipping their coffees, Felix a heavy mocha frappe and Changbin some obnoxious Kenyan black, while Jisung doesn’t really do much besides holding his tea. At some points, his eyes begin to slide closed and he almost loses his grip on the cup, but Changbin’s hands are there immediately to save it, and Minho eventually puts it on the bedside table until Jisung’s able to drink it himself.

 

And perhaps they should leave him to sleep, but Minho doesn’t really have the heart to point it out, because despite the obvious tiredness, Jisung looks so grateful to have people around him again, chatting, cuddling him, hanging out with him. It looks to be energizing and draining at the same time, but as long as Jisung is content, Minho isn’t going to take that away from him.

 

He even manages to coax the pills into him along with the Jasmine tea, Changbin and Felix encouraging him along the way, and somehow, things start to feel okay again.

 

Jisung does, eventually, fall asleep again, snoring into Changbin’s shoulder as the conversation quiets just a little bit. It’s not until Chan pokes his head inside and make demands for bedtime (which they all know he’s going to ignore himself) that the other two carefully extract themselves from the bed and leave Jisung to Minho’s capable hands, thankfully without jostling him too much. Minho doesn’t have a good handle on the time anymore, but it’s not like it’s too relevant anyway.

 

Taking care of Jisung doesn’t have a time limit.

 

Except suddenly it does.

 

Minho is, eventually and as predicted, shoved back into the practice rooms at fuck o’clock a few days later, with one of the managers promising to stay with Jisung until they return. Minho isn’t entirely happy about this, because Jisung still isn’t entirely _there,_ and an aloof manager is not the same as eight loving boys doting on him every hour of the day. He doesn’t even have kids, Minho discovers upon enquiring, which is not a good sign, because sick Jisung is pretty much a child and is best dealt with that way.

But the argument is made that they are a young, fresh group still in their establishing phase of securing a spot in the industry, gathering fans, spreading their name. They can’t afford to take days off to no end just because one member is sick.

 

“It’s Jisung, he’ll be able to catch up quickly,” the managers brush off Chan’s concerns, and Minho finds it so ironic that as a self-producing group who creates and polishes their own work, the only thing they aren’t able to control is their own time.

 

Nonetheless, he still harbours a slight fear or unease at the thought of defying company orders, still finds his position just a little bit vulnerable – which is stupid, but Minho has learned not to take anything for granted anymore.

 

So he agrees, but grumbles the entire way to the studio, and remains unfocused throughout their session. He thinks about Jisung, still asleep when they left, how he’s doing, if the manager takes care of him well. There is a strange hole in their formation that’s oddly Jisung-shaped, and when his rap resonates from the speakers and through the practice room, Minho purses his lips together and stomps just a little bit too hard as he dances.

 

It’s about 9am when he glances at his watch and thinks, this is when Jisung is supposed to take his morning medicine.

 

He looks over at Chan, but Chan is talking to Jeongin, wearing one of his more serious expressions and gesticulating with his hands, so Minho figures he should just let it be. It’s fine. It will be fine.

 

Then lunch rolls by and Minho pressures Chan into sending the manager a text to hear how Jisung is doing. Which Chan, to his credit, does without complaining, if only to pacify Minho hanging over his shoulder.

 

The answer is brief and vague, ‘fine’.

 

Just ‘fine’.

 

“I guess they’re doing alright, then,” Chan shrugs and shoves a ball of noodles into his mouth.

 

Which is, by all accounts, a perfectly valid response, but Minho isn’t entirely happy about it. He has so many follow-up questions to the stupidly short text, like does fine mean that Jisung’s just sleeping? Did he eat, drink? Did he take his pills? Is he feeling lonely without Minho and the others? Did his fever go down? Nightmares?

 

It’s making him anxious to not know anything.

 

2pm passes by while they’re repeating the chorus. Afternoon meds, Minho thinks, but doesn’t say anything.

 

Chan’s phone starts ringing a little while after that, and it takes Minho a few seconds to realize what it is. But then Chan starts speaking, honorifics slamming into place, and _oh,_ don’t think Minho didn’t see that brief glance Chan threw in his direction before averting his eyes again.

 

“Is it about Jisung?” Minho asks, strolling across the practice room and past Seungmin and Hyunjin’s bewildered looks. “Is Jisung okay?”

 

“Ah, yes, I see,” Chan says into the phone, shakes his head and wiggles his hand in an attempt to shoo Minho away.

 

He doesn’t bite.

 

“Is something wrong?” He frowns, moving closer. “Let me talk to him.”

 

“Hold on for a second, please,” Chan covers the mouthpiece on the phone and glares at Minho. “Stop it, he’s fine. Nothing’s wrong.”

 

“I don’t believe you,” Minho huffs. “If nothing’s wrong, then let me talk to him.”

 

“Oh my god, the co-dependency,” Chan rolls his eyes and walks towards the door. “Minho, stay. This isn’t even about Jisung, calm down. And stay. Stay! Good boy.”

 

“I’m not a dog,” Minho grits out as the door slams in his face.

 

“You kind of are,” Woojin supplies unhelpfully, making Felix roll around in a cackling fit on the floor.

 

Minho fumes.

 

He’s just worried.

 

This is the first time one of them has fallen seriously ill since debuting, and on top of it all, it’s _Jisung,_ so it’s only natural that he’s a little bit careful, right?

 

They all _know_ how much time and energy he has invested in Jisung’s recovery, they _know_ how much it means to him that Jisung receives the best and most loving attention when he’s vulnerable.

 

They can’t fault him for this.

 

Jisung is still not _well,_ and despite their best efforts, he isn’t nearly as healed as he should be at this point. It’s not Jisung’s fault, or theirs, it’s just the way it is.

 

But that means he isn’t magically going to improve, and Minho is going to make sure he has whatever he needs.

 

He only hesitates for a second before tearing open the dorm and storming after Chan, much to the others’ protests.

 

He immediately hears Chan’s voice around the corner.

 

“ -  just tell him I ordered him to or something,” he says, sounding exasperated, and Minho feels something tighten in his throat. “Or use a bribe, that’s probably better. I can talk to him – “

 

“Is he refusing his pills?” Minho grits out as he stomps up to Chan. “He’s not fine, you liar!”

 

For a second, Chan only stares at him, and Minho can practically see the gears spinning in his head, probably torn somewhere between frustration that Minho disobeyed and guilt that he caught him lying about something as sensitive as Jisung’s condition.

 

Minho sighs. “Just tell me. What’s wrong?”

 

“I…” Chan stares at his phone, and there is a distant tinny voice still speaking at the other end, but Minho can’t quite make out what it says. “It’s nothing too bad, he’s just not being very cooperative.”

 

Minho stares at him.

 

That can mean a number of things.

 

He doesn’t think Jisung would throw a fit, or be outright bratty to the manager. It’s not really in his character.

 

But that doesn’t mean he’s behaving exemplary.

 

And Minho has a sneaking suspicion about what’s been happening in the dorms today.

 

“I’m going back,” he announces, and Chan doesn’t even protest.

 

“Yeah,” he sighs instead and shrugs tiredly. “You… You do that. I think it might be a good idea.”

 

Minho doesn’t dignify that with an answer, because he thinks he is _this_ close to snapping, but it isn’t really Chan’s fault, so he doesn’t deserve to bear the brunt of Minho’s frustrations. He might not agree with Chan’s approach to the situation, but Chan is doing the best he can.

 

He’s probably beating himself up over it already, Minho knows. He doesn’t need to add insult to injury.

 

The others look up at him questioningly when he barrages in to hurriedly gather his things in his bag, but he doesn’t really pay attention to them all. Instead, he brushes them off with the simple explanation that he’s going back to look after Jisung, leaving it to Chan to elaborate.

 

The walk back home has never seemed so short, and simultaneously, too long.

 

All while Minho runs scenarios through his head, worries, fears, frustrations pushing his steps quicker until he’s almost running through the streets to be the prince charming to his poor, suffering princess.

 

The image makes him snort.

 

It’s a good thing he isn’t a lyricist.

 

When he gets back to the dorm, the manager is lounging on their couch.

 

Their _couch._

He’s not in Jisung’s room with him, not even in the kitchen to prepare food or on a bathroom break.

 

He’s just hanging out on their _couch,_ eyes glued to his phone and barely looking up as Minho storms in.

 

“He’s in his bed,” he tells Minho in some odd, neutral tone Minho isn’t entirely able to interpret.

 

“How is he doing?” Minho asks, resisting the urge to just run in there and collect Jisung in his arms immediately.

 

“Fine, I guess. Just sleeping all day.”

 

“Has he eaten anything?” Minho frowns. “Or had anything to drink?”

 

“He’s got some crackers and water by his bed, but he hasn’t touched it,” the manager shrugs. “Guess he’s not hungry. He’s just sleeping.”

 

“But he needs to eat,” Minho insists, frown deepening. “And fluid to combat the fever. I thought Chan-hyung said – “

 

“Minho, he didn’t want anything,” the manager sighs. “He just closed his eyes and turned away from me. What was I supposed to do, force it down his throat? He’s a big boy, he can make decisions for himself.”

 

“No, that’s the thing, he can’t,” Minho says, gritting his teeth. “He’s just a kid. And a sick kid, so he doesn’t think very rationally right now. I’ve spent hours trying to persuade him to eat and take his meds over the past few days! He’s not going to do it by himself if he doesn’t have to.”

 

He pauses.

 

“What about his morning meds? Did you make him take those?”

 

The manager’s mildly exasperated look of confusion says it all.

 

Minho wants to punch something.

 

“The water? Did you give him the electrolytes from the fridge?”

 

“He got regular water from the purifier,” the manager says. “How was I supposed to know there was some kind of special drink that sick little rappers need to get their systems functioning again? Chan didn’t say anything about that. Look, he’s a sweet kid, and a great talent, but I don’t think he needs this kind of coddling, honestly. I know this whole brotherhood and the holy nine shtick is your thing, and I’m not going to meddle with that, but just chill, okay? He’ll recover in time.”

 

“That’s not what this is about, though,” Minho says, registering but not being able to hold back the frustration in his own voice. “He’s seriously ill, and he won’t recover if we don’t help him. He’s not _capable_ of taking care of himself right now! But I guess this is just another thing we have to do by ourselves.”

 

The manager frowns, standing up. “Minho-ya – “

 

“No, forget it,” Minho brushes him off and storms down the hall to the bedrooms. “Sorry for your trouble, hyung, but I’ll take it from here.”

 

He doesn’t know what the manager does afterwards, what his reaction is, what he’ll report to the company – if anything. He shouldn’t, but Minho doesn’t trust executive decisions anymore.

 

Whatever.

 

He doesn’t find it in him to care as he tries to calm himself, slow his heartbeat, think positive things to avoid distressing Jisung further.

 

The manager probably leaves, but Minho only has his eyes on the prize behind the half-closed door at the end of the hallway.

 

He knocks on the door gently, sliding around the corner when he hears a quiet groan from inside.

 

“Jisung-ah?” He calls out softly into the darkness. “It’s hyung. I’m going to turn on the light.”

 

He doesn’t get a response, and when the light flickers on, he sees nothing but a lump of blankets and strewn pillows in a corner on Jisung’s bed. The plate of crackers and glass of water are still standing untouched on the bedside table, along with the two small plastic bags containing his morning and afternoon medicine.

 

Minho forces himself to ignore it.

 

“Jisung-ah,” he calls again and sits down on the bed, gingerly reaching out to tug at the blanket nest. “Hey. Are you awake?”

 

The lump stirs slightly as Minho begins to peel off the layers, and it doesn’t take long before he sees tufts of brown hair and big, puffy eyes blinking up at him drowsily.

 

“Hyung?” Jisung mumbles, squinting slightly against the strong lights. “Hnn… ‘s it evening yet?”

 

“No, not quite,” Minho smiles at him, reaches out to brush some hair away from his eyes. “But I heard you weren’t doing so well, so I came back. How are you feeling?”

 

“Hurts. Tired.” Jisung offers a weak attempt at a smile. “Better now that you’re here.”

 

Minho can’t help but chuckle, and returns the smile fondly. “So charming, even like this.”

 

“I try,” Jisung says, and it’s barely understandable through the muffled gruffness of it all, but Minho knows.

 

“But I heard you weren’t so charming earlier today,” he starts, cautiously, and starts brushing Jisung’s hair again. “You haven’t taken your pills, and you didn’t eat. Did you even get out of bed at all today?”

 

“Didn’t want to,” Jisung retorts, scrunches up his nose. “Hurts to swallow. Outside is cold. And you weren’t here, I just wanted to sleep.”

 

It’s not really an accusation, but Minho’s heart twists a little bit painfully at the confession, messy and mumbled as it is.

 

He knew he should have stayed.

 

He should have known that no one else, certainly not anyone outside of their tight little group, would be able to give Jisung the support he needs in his current state. It feels a little bit like he’s failed Jisung by leaving him that morning – by just _assuming_ that it would be fine, by delegating his responsibility to someone else for an entire day. It had worked out fine with the members, those he trusts, but this…

 

He doesn’t really know when Jisung became his responsibility, and maybe he really isn’t – but then who else is there?

 

Jisung would surely look after him if he was sick as well.

 

Jisung, and all the other members.

 

And yet here they are.

 

He failed to take action when Jisung got sick in the first place, and failed to take care of him properly now.

 

“I’m sorry Jisungie, I shouldn’t have left you,” he says, fingers lingering at Jisung’s earlobe. The earrings are out, for a change, and it makes him look strangely young.

 

Jisung just makes a vague noise in return. “It’s okay, you’re here now.”

 

“I am,” Minho agrees, and glances over at the medicine. “So I know I’m the worst hyung ever, and I’m about to get worse. Jisungie, I really need you to take your pills.”

 

Predictably, Jisung starts groaning and begins to burrow himself deeper into the blankets again, sounding almost frustrated as he begins to turn away.

 

“Jisungie, please,” Minho sighs. “I know it hurts, but it’s worse because you didn’t get your painkillers yet today. It’s going to feel better once you take them, yeah? Then you can sleep as much as you want.”

 

There is an odd garbled sound from underneath the blankets, and Minho doesn’t really know how to interpret that, so he just keeps arguing.

 

“Jisung-ah,” he calls sweetly. “I’ll do whatever you want if you take the pills. Please? You’re going to get worse again if you don’t take them. I don’t want you to get sicker, this already scares me more than enough. Please, for me?”

 

That’s always the stinger, and Minho knows he should appreciate it as a winning strategy, but it’s still bittersweet when Jisung eventually crawls out of his pile to sit up next to him with a small glare. He’s still leaning heavily on Minho’s shoulder when he hands him the pills and water, and he still does them one by one, whether it’s because it still hurts to swallow the bigger ones or if it’s just a demonstration of obstinacy at this point.

 

“There you go,” Minho smiles and takes the glass from Jisung’s shaking hands, setting it on the table before gathering him in his arms. “Thank you, love. It’ll feel better soon, I promise.”

 

“I hope so,” Jisung whispers, wincing a little as his voice cracks again. “I’m so tired of being sick, hyung.”

 

“I know, it’s no fun,” Minho hums into his hair. “I hate seeing you like this, but you’ll get through it in due time. Don’t think too much about it, okay?”

 

When Jisung doesn’t answer immediately, Minho loosens his hold slightly to look down at him.

 

Jisung is crying.

 

Silently, but surely, tears are leaking from his eyes and rolling down his cheeks to create dark patches on his sweatpants. He doesn’t reach up to wipe them away, so Minho does it for him, ignoring his heart shattering a little bit in the process.

 

“I’m so tired of staying here while the rest of you move on,” Jisung says, eventually, and it’s so quiet and defeated, Minho barely picks it up. “I’m just… Wasting so much time lying here, not doing anything, while you improve, make new stuff, and it’s just… I don’t know, hyung. I just hate it.”

 

And Minho gets that – he really does.

 

It’s vaguely reminiscent of the time he was eliminated from the group in the earliest days of their survival program – when he saw the rest of them move on without being able to keep up, isolated at the sidelines as a spectator rather than teammate. And Jisung, precious, kind Jisung, who had done everything he could to help him along – he had to move on too. It hurt. And it hurt knowing that it was Minho’s own shortcomings that left him behind.

 

But he was able to come back, and so will Jisung, when the time is right.

 

“I understand,” he says, slowly, and kisses Jisung’s temple. “It’s tough. But you will come back to us soon, stronger than ever. You just have to be patient, and I know it’s difficult, but that’s all there is to it. Trust me on this, there’s no use in rushing anything.”

 

He isn’t sure if Jisung realizes the parallel, but he doesn’t have to. As long as he takes Minho’s words to heart, that’s all he really needs.

 

“It just feels like I’m never getting better,” Jisung mutters, and new tears fall down when he blinks. “I don’t remember what it’s like to have energy to do stuff.”

 

Minho has to bite his lip at his words.

 

“It’s just for a little while,” he tries to reason, in lack of a better argument. “It will pass.”

 

“But what if I can’t rap anymore?” Jisung asks, sincerely, and the concern in his voice is almost tangible. “Or sing? What if – “

 

“You’ll be just fine,” Minho assures him, and punctuates the statement with a gentle kiss to tear-stained cheeks. “I promise, you’ll be okay. By the time our comeback rolls around, you’ll be spitting bars and running circles around the rest of us as per usual. Nothing to worry about, do you hear me?”

 

Jisung looks like he wants to protest, but doesn’t find the words. Which is absolutely fine, and Minho will happily take that as a victory.

 

“You’re good to me, hyung,” Jisung says eventually, burying his head in Minho’s shoulder. “Too good.”

 

“Now you’re just flattering me,” Minho teases, but his arms tighten around Jisung’s still warm frame before pulling them both down to lie on the bed. “Come on. You took your meds, now it’s time for a reward.”

 

“Cuddles?” Jisung chuckles weakly, the noise still sounding like half a sob, but he lets himself be manhandled down on the bed without protests.

 

“Absolutely.”

 

Minho wishes he had had the foresight to turn the lights off again, but at this point, he doesn’t really care. Jisung is making himself comfortable in his hold, snuggling into his collarbone despite his feverish heat, and Minho isn’t about to dislodge him anytime soon.

 

It feels right.

 

It feels like home.

 

Minho doesn’t even realize he’s fallen asleep until he’s woken by the soft sound of voices somewhere near the door.

 

“Ssshhh, you’ll wake them up!”

 

“Hyung, just turn off the lights and leave!”

 

“But I need a picture of this, it’s too cute!”

 

Minho growls quietly at the intrusion. “Bang Chan, I swear, if you do not fuck off this very second, I will get up there and kick your ass down to Jeju!”

 

“That’s fine, I need a good tan,” Chan shrugs with a grin as he straightens, phone held up triumphantly in his hands. Behind him, Seungmin rolls his eyes as he slinks away. “Besides, that’s Chan-hyung to you. Let a man live.”

 

“My favourite dongsaeng is deadly ill, and you use the opportunity to get blackmail material?” Minho hisses. “No respect. Get out, please.”

 

“He’s not deadly ill,” Chan snorts, and contrarily to Minho’s instructions, sits down on the bed next to them. Jisung is still snoring away, somehow, still neatly tucked under Minho’s chin, and he resists the urge to tighten his hold. “How is he, though?”

 

“Deadly ill.”

 

“ _Come on.”_

 

“Fine. Manager-hyung basically just left him here to sleep it off,” Minho frowns, unconsciously starting to rub soothing circles around Jisung’s shoulder blades. “Didn’t get any of his meds, so he was in pain when he did wake up, and his fever spiked again slightly, I think. Didn’t get any food or drinks either, so he’s not exactly taking two steps forward today.”

 

“Shit, Minho, I’m sorry,” Chan sighs, and reaches forward to ruffle Jisung’s hair affectionately. “When they – uhm, well you know what the management said initially, but then they told me – well, not in so many words, they said we fucked up, but still needed to maintain our jobs. That even if one person is on sick leave, the rest of us still have to pull our weights.”

 

Minho nods. That sounds familiar.

 

“I thought that meant they would actually be able to look after him properly,” Chan sighs. “I didn’t – well, Jisung is stubborn, but he’s not impossible. I didn’t think it would turn out like this.”

 

“It’s not your fault,” Minho half shrugs. “It is what it is, I suppose. He’ll get better soon.”

 

“I hope so,” Chan says, biting his lip. “They’ve given you two more days to stay with him, if only to shove those pills down his throat. We will deal with the rest afterwards.”

 

“Thanks, hyung,” Minho says, sincerely. He knows it isn’t easy to negotiate with the management, especially not after all the shit Chan’s been getting from them already because of Jisung’s sickness.

 

But Chan is nothing if not considerate of his teammates.

 

“Of course. We’ll have to use them well, but the offer was only extended to you. The rest of us have to carry on, business as usual, and all of that.” Chan shrugs, but he’s still smiling at them fondly.

 

“That’s all I could ever hope for,” Minho says, sincerely, hoping his gratitude is evident enough in his voice.

 

Even Bang Chan needs to hear the appreciation from time to time.

 

“I think it’s because JYP himself has a soft spot for Jisungie,” Chan smirks, looking down at Jisung’s rumpled sleeping face. “Don’t think he would have demonstrated this softness for just anyone. Whatever, we got it now, so I suppose you might as well start counting the hours. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything, just holler.”

 

“I will do no such thing,” Minho rolls his eyes. “But you make sure to sleep as well, hyung. We’re not promoting anymore, after all.”

 

“Well, we will be soon enough, and someone has to make sure we’re prepared.”

 

“Yeah, all of us,” Minho points out, but halts his own argument as Jisung starts to shift in his arms. He doesn’t entirely wake up, not when Minho hushes him and caresses his hair softly, but Chan takes the hint anyway and makes his escape hastily, throwing Minho a small smile on his way out.

 

It’s fine.

 

They can have this discussion later – again.

 

And again, in a while.

 

And a few more times after that as well.

 

Minho can already tell it’s going to be a reoccurring trend in the group, them trying to convince Chan that although he’s the leader and the oldest, he isn’t alone in trying to make them a success. They’re a team, not just on the stage, but in preparing for it as well. In taking care of each other.

 

And Bang Chan is a self-deprecating, violently compassionate idiot, so he really needs to be taken care of, whether he likes it or not.

 

Minho is going to make a point out of doing just that, in time.

 

For now, he has more than enough to deal with in the form of the snoring boy in his arms.

 

But he wouldn’t be anywhere else.

 

He kisses Jisung’s hair again and makes a promise, to himself and Jisung and the rest of the group, that he will do his best over the course of the next two days. He knows further negotiations are completely off the table, so he will have to make the most of this time.

 

And he does.

 

After enlisting Changbin and Felix’s help again, he makes sure to keep everything fresh and maintain a cheerful atmosphere during the day, forcing Jisung to rest well and undisturbed during the night.

 

He also dares to push Jisung further during this time, makes him eat and drink even more, forces him to take a shower, becomes stricter with the pills. He’s never mean about it, but tries to build up Jisung’s usual state of mind and independence a little further, and as the antibiotics finally take and starts chasing away his fever, Minho is delighted to actually see some solid signs of recovery.

 

Jisung asks for seconds after lunch.

 

Jisung fills his water mug by himself while Minho’s napping.

 

Jisung drags his ass out of bed to watch TV with Felix in the living room, admittedly falling asleep after approximately two minutes, but it’s still a step forward.

 

Doesn’t even protest when Minho tosses him the small pack of pills, just sighs in resignation and peels the plastic open to get it over with.

 

Minho doesn’t feel quite as uneasy the next time he has to leave and go back to the company for their regular training schedules.

 

He’s not, by any means, happy about it, and he still shoots off text messages to Jisung throughout the day to remind him to drink, take his pills, sleep, all of it.

 

But at least Jisung is coherent enough to answer them by himself this time, even if it is a bit sporadically and not always very sensible. Minho once gets a picture of a flying pig when he asks if Jisung is doing fine, and he doesn’t understand it at all, and Woojin’s overbearing amusement is the only thing that keeps him from storming back home to check if Jisung has gone back to a delirious fever.

 

He doesn’t, but sends a row of question marks instead, nearly crawling out of his skin when it takes two full hours to receive a simple smiley emoji in response.

 

He tries to get Felix to interpret the messages for him, asking if it’s a meme or something, but Felix just shrugs smugly in response, and Minho can’t tell if it’s because Felix is amused by his reaction, or if he is actually keeping the meaning from him on purpose.

 

Whatever it is, it’s probably a sign that Jisung’s doing fine.

 

He hopes.

 

He’s still a bit antsy when they get back, a bit earlier than usual, and barely stops to take off his shoes and jacket before rushing into the bedroom.

 

He does, unsurprisingly, find Jisung huddled on the cold floor, notebook in hand and lips moving quietly as he draws quick strokes to immortalize whatever lyrical wonder he has come up with now.

 

It’s a welcome sight, in many ways, because it means Jisung has found the energy to take initiative to do something besides lying in bed, but Minho also feels his heart jump in his chest – it could very well be that Jisung is pushing himself as well, something which is decidedly detrimental to his recovery, but also so very Jisung that Minho wouldn’t put it past him.

 

Admittedly, his cheeks look a bit less flushed, and his posture isn’t quite as slumped as it has been, but Minho is too set in his mother hen ways to give up now.

 

“You should be resting,” he scolds, shoulders falling in exasperation.

 

But Jisung just smiles up at him and shrugs.

 

“Hi, hyung,” he says evasively.

 

Minho isn’t convinced.

 

“Why aren’t you in bed?” He persists. “You shouldn’t work when you’re still sick.”

 

“This is resting for me, hyung,” Jisung says quietly, and his voice already sounds so much better than it did only two days ago. “It’s… It makes me restless and anxious, not having any sort of outlet. And I’ve been lying in bed for so long, I’ve got all these thoughts in my head, and… Well, I’d go crazy if I couldn’t sort through it all, one way or another.”

 

And Minho thinks he should understand that.

 

Jisung’s life has always been music, and for the past few years, he has done nothing _but_ music. Rapping, singing, dancing, composing, writing lyrics – he’s always doing something to improve, to build and indulge in the world of music, in whatever form suits.

 

But Jisung is a naturally energetic person as well.

 

He never really sits still for longer periods of time, only when he’s concentrating, and even then, he’s always fidgeting or moving, too much vigour concentrated in one small body. It’s something they have all heard Changbin complain about, being locked in a room with Jisung and Chan for too long as they pour over the arrangements and lyrics of their new songs. Changbin likes the quiet, predictable – the steadiness. Jisung is on the other end of the scale, always bouncing all over and processing his thoughts out loud regardless of his company. Chan is a good mediator between the two of them, with an undeniable silly streak as well as the ability to make sense of chaos and stay rooted to the task at hand.

 

Minho suspects the 3RACHA sessions have been remarkably quiet lately.

 

And it’s probably why, even now, Jisung needs to do something. Minho supposes he should be glad that Jisung’s natural tics only translate into mental work and doesn’t… Push him to start dancing, or something.

 

It’s probably the best outlet he has, but Minho can’t help his worry. He knows it’s becoming increasingly unnecessary and that he should let it go, but he doesn’t quite believe that the happy ending is so near already.

 

Still.

 

Jisung is just being Jisung, his talented, happy little squirrel, and Minho isn’t going to stop him.

 

“What are you writing about, then?” He asks instead, settling down next to Jisung on the floor and pulling up one of the blankets to cover them both.

 

Jisung grins at him, and it’s so sparkly and full of life, almost like seeing Jisung back when Minho first met him, full of ambition and drive, hope and dreams. Nothing has changed, really, except maybe Minho himself, seeing the world in a different light, seeing new obstacles and new realities, for better or worse.

 

But Jisung –

 

Jisung is still the same.

 

Jisung is still the same beacon of light, support and charisma, the same _backbone_ he has been since their first mission together. Minho is convinced that there isn’t a thing Jisung can’t do. Whatever the rest of them shies away from, Jisung does without hesitation, for the sake of the group, their success. Chan might be the mastermind behind their groups inception and continuous progress, and Changbin still remains their biggest trademark on stage, but Jisung is in many ways their enabler, always moulding into that perfect last slot in the puzzle, regardless of the situation. Not just in the musical sense, but also in maintaining their stable group dynamic, which Minho appreciates all the more.

 

Wherever they go, wherever Chan may lead them, Changbin is always there to guard, and Jisung is always there to pick up the pieces.

 

He’s still a kid, Minho knows, but in some ways, he’d more grown than Minho will ever be, and the thought makes him shiver with pride.

 

It will be nice to get him back.

 

And for the first time in what feels like such a long time, Minho actually believes himself when he says that he can see the light at the end of the tunnel. When he sees Jisung’s soft smile, freshly washed hair falling into clear, sparkling eyes looking back at him with such admiration, such love –

 

Minho can’t help but think that things are already quite fine, actually, truthfully.

 

Three months later, they’re stumbling off the stage, panting and groaning heavily, wiping sweat and whistling in relief that nothing went wrong, and Jisung is shrieking excitedly, still high on adrenaline.

 

It had been a good stage, strong and energetic, and if Minho hadn’t known better, he wouldn’t have been able to tell how sick Jisung was just a while ago.

 

He knows.

 

And just like other little fears he keeps carefully stored somewhere in the back of his mind, he is always just a little bit worried that it might return someday. Every time he sees Jisung cough or fall down in exhaustion, his heart jumps a little bit before he manages to rein himself in, and he can’t help the little flinch whenever one of the members mentions feeling a bit under the weather.

 

But hey have gotten better at handling it, collectively.

 

And they’re looking after each other better now. They know to look for signs, know to call each other out, know when to take breaks in time.

 

It’s an improvement.

 

It’s a learning curve.

 

And just like everything else, it’s something Jisung has silently helped them achieve, pulling strings in the back, pushing them along Chan’s sturdy leadership.

 

Minho couldn’t be prouder.

 

That night, when they get home, sweaty and tired and make-up smeared all over their faces, he can’t help himself as he pushes Jisung against the wall of their hallway, patiently waiting for the other members to scurry away before placing a firm, loving kiss on Jisung’s surprised lips.

 

“Hyung,” Jisung mutters, licking his lips slightly when Minho pulls away. “What was that for?”

 

“Just thanking you,” Minho shrugs, smiling down at him, taking in the smoke around large, round eyes, the last remnants of lip gloss and hair slowly unravelling from the stylists’ careful coif.

 

“For what?”

 

“For being you.”

 

“Hey, hyung,” Jisung whines, smiling in exasperated amusement as he slaps Minho’s arm playfully. “That’s too much, what’s gotten into you?”

 

“Nothing,” Minho insists, putting on his best serious face. “Can’t a man express his love without being attacked these days?”

 

“Nope.” Jisung grins and stands on his tiptoes to gently press a kiss against Minho’s nose. “But if that’s what you’re up to, I love you too, hyung.”

 

Minho smiles back, so eternally grateful to have this precious boy by his side, healthy and well, and always, _always_ so giving to everyone.

 

Minho doesn’t know what he would do without Han Jisung.

 

“I love you so much,” he says, looking into glittering eyes that keeps talking to him in so many languages, such rich tones that only Jisung can ever manage, and Minho thinks, he will say it a million times if it makes Jisung look at him like this. “Don’t ever leave me.”

 

Because Jisung smiles so brightly.

 

And Jisung smiles for _him._

“I will never leave you, hyung,” he promises, and Minho believes him.

 

He will always believe Jisung.

 

… Except when he lies about his health.

 

Minho is never going to fall for that ever, _ever_ again.

 

And as long as he can keep that promise, things will be absolutely fine.

 

So perfectly fine.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> (i was very done with this fic towards the end ok.) idk why you guys keep insisting that minho is this savage, he is literally the softest most precious boy and minsung is the softest ship, bye.
> 
> no but i really feel like he is the most down to earth in the group, and i bet he would have some pretty meaningful reflections on the industry as a whole and his group in particular. i love this boy so much, jyp pls let him live.
> 
> please let me know what you think? might write more stray kids in the future, i enjoyed writing this even though i kind of hate myself because i puked a little bit in my mouth


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